


Tremour

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 13:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memories of the battle still give Balin complications, but Bilbo is always there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tremour

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fic for anon’s “Bilbo and Balin have been growing closer after Erebor has been reclaimed, but Bilbo notice how Balin is anxious about taking the relationship further, and he does not understand why. It turns out that Balin is having problems with remaining dry most nights since the battle of five armies. He does not wet the bed every night, but it happens too frequently to risk sharing his bed with anyone and humiliate himself. Bonus if: At one point Balin wakes up right as he begins to wet the bed and he sits up and tries in vain to hold it in, and Bilbo strokes his back and murmur that it's fine, he should let it out as he clearly needs to right now” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24643957#t24643957).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They stay too long discussing plans—even though Balin likes to say he’s old and tired, Bilbo can still see the adventure in his eyes, and it does them good to leave the mountain every now and again. Things aren’t quiet settled enough in Erebor to warrant a trip all the way back to the Shire, but Bilbo still likes to visit Dale when he can, and every once in a long while, the Elven territory at the edge of Mirkwood. He couldn’t bring most of the dwarves, of course, but Balin is very respectful and polite and welcome almost everywhere, so journeying with him is always a pleasure. 

Bilbo explains to Balin that what he’s most looking forward to on this upcoming trip is asking for maps of Mirkwood, if there are any. He has such a _fondness_ for maps, and while there are plenty of the whole expanse of Northern Middle Earth, the details between Rivendell and Dale are missing from Bilbo’s collection. Balin smiles at Bilbo’s eagerness and Bilbo leans over to peck him on the nose. There’s something about Balin’s smiles that always warm his heart, and he snuggles closer on the bed, after putting his packing list over on the nightstand. 

Then he turns to give Balin a bigger kiss, his fingers twisting into Balin’s palm, but Balin turns away and murmurs, “It’s late.”

Bilbo frowns, though it isn’t unexpected. Balin does this every time they get too close too late in the night. Bilbo nods, as he always does, and sighs. He’s sure the disappointment is all over him. The heat of their relationship is relatively new, but Bilbo knows Balin’s meant a great deal to him for some time. Hobbits are affectionate creatures, and he doesn’t like being alone, particularly at night when he has someone he could be with, and he’s grown overuse to sleeping amidst thirteen dwarves. But he never wants to push Balin, so he lets Balin’s hand slip out of his fingers. 

Balin says quietly, “I should get going.” Bilbo means to stand, offer his hand back, and guide Balin to the door.

But instead, he asks, “Why can’t you stay?” He avoids Balin’s eyes so as not to add any pressure. It isn’t that Bilbo doesn’t accept Balin’s choices; it’s that he doesn’t understand. He loves Balin tremendously and knows Balin loves him back, and it would be easier on the road if they didn’t have to bring the funds for separate beds and tote two sleeping bags. 

Balin says only, “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Bilbo looks at him and mumbles, “You can tell me. I promise.” And he reaches back for Balin’s hand, squeezing it tightly, because he knows there’s something he’s missing. Balin smiles at him with a little sadness but a lot of adoration. 

And Balin, looking torn, finally sighs, “I’ll stay.”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo starts, shaking his head, “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright,” Balin chides. 

“If it’s... if it’s nightmares about the battle, I have those too.” Constantly. And they’re awful and eat away at him, and that’s all the more reason he’d like to have someone with him when he wakes, but Balin shakes his head like that isn’t it. 

Even if he doesn’t want to burden Balin, Bilbo wants it too much to fight it, so he accepts Balin’s shaky agreement. He kisses Balin’s cheek again before he slides off the bed, and he puts all their plans away, gathering up the stack of parchment on the center of the table. His room is much larger than it was in Bag End, though he’s been given the smallest chambers. Much of the furniture is still a little bit too big, but he knows they can pare it down once everything else is out of the way—for now, there’s too much to do with just restoration. There are no windows—one of the strangest things to him—but perhaps it should be expected, burrowed into the heart of a mountain. All the more reason to venture out and enjoy the open air. 

Perhaps they can enjoy an Elven bed together in a few weeks, and that thought makes Bilbo grin very wide. He blows out all the lanterns until just one candle’s left, and he takes that over to the nightstand, while Balin strips away his outer layers. Bilbo removes his own belt and coat and suspenders, until they’re down to loose tunics and trousers, Bilbo’s bare feet and Balin’s thick, woolen socks.

They slip onto the mattress together, shuffling under layers of covers. Balin winds up between the wall and Bilbo, which, Bilbo hopes, will make him feel safe. The only place he can roll to in the middle of the night is Bilbo’s arms, and Bilbo will do everything he can to make the night a pleasant one.

When they’re nestled in, they share smiles, then a chaste kiss. Bilbo doesn’t want to push anything, but they aren’t an overtly sexual couple anyway, and the little pecks and nuzzles are quite enough to make him already immensely pleased: it’ll be his best night since arriving in Erebor. 

He holds one of Balin’s hands under the blanket. Balin does look comfortable, if a little sad, and Bilbo rolls over to blow out the candle. He can only hope that things get better: sometimes the first step is the hardest. 

Through the total darkness, Bilbo snuggles up to Balin’s side. He can feel the long tuft of Balin’s beard tucked below his chin, Balin’s warm breath over his face, and he keeps their fingers intertwined, trying, even as he feels Balin slip into an exhausted sleep, to radiate support.

* * *

Balin knows, even before he’s really awake, that it’s safer to stay in his dreams. 

He’s getting older. He knows that. When he started the journey, he was still too old for little Bilbo, even if their species are different and ages are a strange thing to match, and neither of them are anywhere near children. Still, Bilbo couldn’t understand; he has distress, yes, but not the way it manifests in Balin’s gut, and Balin clenches his body and his teeth, trying to keep it in. The more he comes back to the real world, the more he feels that urge to _go_ , and he tries, so hard, to pretend it isn’t real. 

The washrooms are too far away. He knows if he got up now, he wouldn’t make it. Not with how close the problem is. Prolonging it doesn’t make any more sense, but Balin is _tired_ and heavy and tries all the same, desperately trying to hold it in. It’s humiliating, and as soon as he realizes that Bilbo’s curled right beneath his chin, he rolls onto his other side. It’s pitch black, and at first he thinks of the open end of his own room, but then it catches up with him that there’s only a wall in front of him: he’s trapped. 

He wraps his arms together and crosses his legs and tries to think of _anything_ but the battle. It’s the distress that brings the need, no matter how careful he is with spacing out his drinks or going before he sleeps. Some nights he’s simply safe, and others he isn’t. 

Even though it’s stiflingly hot beneath the covers, Balin starts to shiver, to tremble, and he curls in on himself, thinking only that this was a terrible idea and that he never should’ve stayed. The humiliation burns beneath his skin. He feels distinctly like he’s trying to hold himself from falling apart, but his bladder aches and it’s only a matter of time. 

Something small presses against his back. It strokes him with the soft pads of five little fingers, and he hears Bilbo’s voice whisper against him, “It’s alright.” Bilbo’s touch, his tone, is soothing. 

But Balin still shakes his head, knowing Bilbo can’t understand, and hoarsely admits, “I’ll ruin your bed.” It makes him blush hotter to say, but Bilbo has a right to know. There’s a pause behind him, and then those sweet arms are wrapping lightly around his middle. He can feel Bilbo’s handsome face cuddling against his back, Bilbo’s honey hair tickling through his own. 

Bilbo tells him gently, “I want it to be _our_ bed. And I don’t mind. If you need to go, you should go.” Bilbo then brushes some of the white strands away from the back of Balin’s neck, and a kiss lingers on his skin. 

Balin thinks for one second that he’s _so_ lucky. He loves Bilbo so very much, and he should’ve known that his hobbit would be kind. It’s still hard to admit and hard to give in, but his body gives way to its needs, and he spills into the front of his trousers. He can feel the slow stream trickle down his thighs, making his clothes cling to him, and he’s sure it’s leaking into the sheets. Bilbo still stays spooned against him and pets his back and murmurs endearments that make Balin feel tears around the edges of his eyes. Even with how good Bilbo is to him, he feels awash in shame, and he still trembles. 

After he’s emptied his bladder, Bilbo tugs at his shoulders. Balin, too fragile to resist, lets himself be rolled around. He wishes he could see Bilbo’s face, but without any fire, it’s all black. He’s not even sure he can touch Bilbo, though Bilbo’s fingers play in his beard. The little affectionate tugs keep Balin grounded, keep them connected. Bilbo whispers, “We can put a towel across the bed for the future. It won’t be so bad.” It doesn’t solve everything, but it’s more than Balin asked for. Bilbo’s free hand searches through the sheets and finds his elbow, running up to clasp their hands. Balin’s fingers are so much thicker, bigger than Bilbo’s, but they fit together all the same. Bilbo brushes his thumb across Balin’s knuckles, promising, “We’ll clean up in the morning.”

“And now?” Balin mumbles. He’s so in love with Bilbo that he doesn’t know what to do. He’s always full of warmth when he sees his hobbit, but sometimes it hits him harder than others, and this is one of those moments where he thinks of Bilbo and he can barely _breathe._

Bilbo offers, “Go back to sleep.” The blankets shift again, and a light peck is placed on Balin’s forehead. 

But this time, Bilbo drifts off first, while Balin holds him and listens to the soothing ebb and flow of his breath.

Finally, Balin follows, content to know that the world is just that little bit less scary.


End file.
